


A Changing Point of View

by TheWritingGuineapig (Aridette)



Series: Short Haytham/Connor Stories [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Body Swap, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pieces of Eden, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aridette/pseuds/TheWritingGuineapig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haytham and Connor find themselves in a more than troublesome situation as a Piece of Eden causes them to switch bodies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haytham's Point of View

**Author's Note:**

> Frankly, this is my first attempt to write in 4 years and posting it makes me a bit nervous.  
> I hope a few of you might enjoy reading this mini-story. <3
> 
> The next 2 chapters will follow the next days, please stay tuned =)

**  
**

 

Haytham sighed as he closed the door to his small room at the inn. It had been a long day.

Tomorrow everything would be back to normal, he told himself. Finding that merchant and getting this god-damn Piece of Eden back won't be a problem.

 

It was embarrassing enough that this ancient device did what it - well - did. But to have it stolen by a mere thief before they could reverse the effect was certainly something that shouldn't have happened to the Templar Grandmaster and the Assassin who single-handedly took out most of his father's best men.

At least they'd learned that the thief had sold the necklace to a Boston merchant earlier today.

Connor of course immediately wanted to start searching the city for clues but Haytham had intervened. Though this job seemed easy, they'd better have a good night's rest before they were running into trouble again. And Connor needed to rest, whether he wanted to or not. The boy wasn't used to his current body after all.

Though Haytham did like the strength and flexibility his son's body gave him it still felt wrong.

 

Haytham began undressing. He sighed again as he remembered that the boy tended to sleep almost fully clothed, only shrugging off his weapons, coat and vest before he fell into a deep slumber. But Haytham was used to his comfortable nightdress when he was staying at an inn. He pondered going to Connor's room to ask for his clothes.

As he looked at the reflection of this body that wasn't his in the window glass, he dismissed the thought.

There was no way his nightdress wouldn't rip.  
Suddenly feeling curious he unbuttoned the shirt, took it off and, neatly folded, put it aside to join the weapons, coat, vest, gloves, belt, sash and leggings he already discarded at the end of the bed. Looking back at the window he felt a bit embarrassed. Connor's appearance was staring back at him, clothed in only breeches and moccasins, and it sure was an impressive view. He took a step closer to the glass. How could Connor's build even be real?

Haytham let his fingers glide over his - well, technically Connor's - chest, feeling the muscles flex. He had been well trained all his life but he was quite sure that even at Connor's age his muscles hadn't been this huge. Also his son's ribcage certainly was bigger than his.

Smiling softly Haytham continued comparing Connor's body to his own. Though his son shared some of his features and was about his height, their bodies seemed to be rather different.

Haytham was sure that his own small of the back was broader than Connor's, as well as his hips.

He turned a bit to see Connor's side. There they were: the smallish, two round moles exactly like Ziio's. One of them was a bit smaller than the other and they stood together like twin stars. Lost in old memories he stroked them gently with his thumb.

 

For the third time this evening Haytham let out a sigh.

He shook his head, turned away from his - Connor's - reflection and tried to remember what he had been thinking about before.

Ah, yes, the problem with the nightdress ...

After a fourth sigh he decided to try sleeping in a shirt and undergarments.

It wasn't that bad actually. Connor's body seemed to keep the warmth better than his own.

He tossed and turned but eventually drifted off into a surprisingly deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The dark black of the night had turned into a lighter blue and a few birds sang loudly, making Haytham wonder drowsily how creatures with such tiny lungs were able to make more noise than a drunken Thomas Hickey.  
He felt a sudden pang of guilt and sadness, thinking of his dead friend.

 

Opening his eyes blinkingly, he brushed aside these feelings. What had woken him up? Haytham frowned. The sun hadn't even risen yet.

Then, with a fifth sigh and a mental notice that he should really stop doing this, he found the culprit right between his legs.

There were annoying side-effects of being in a younger body, too, it seemed.  
He couldn't even remember having a "good dream", but nevertheless he was incredibly hard.

Haytham let his head fall back into the pillow. Fighting the urge to sigh again, he let his hands wander down his body.

This skin was smooth like silk. Unlike _his_.

With a sudden realisation he stopped.

It wasn't his body he was touching like this. It was _his son's_.

The thought alone should disgust him.

It really, utterly, absolutely should.  
But it didn't.

Well, he had to do this anyway. What else should he do?

There was no point in being disgusted about it after all, he told himself.

After a few seconds he finally allowed his hands to travel further downwards. As his fingers brushed the still clothed reason for his discomfort, a moan escaped his lips.

Only it wasn't _his voice_ that was moaning.

 

"Goodgodalmighty-!", he growled between bared teeth.

 

Haytham felt his face getting hot.

_Oh no._

There was no way that he, that Haytham Kenway, Grandmaster of the Knights Templar, was _blushing_.

He chuckled drily. Apparently, yes way, he was. Or rather: Connor was.

Another moan escaped. He had to speed this up.

Haytham pushed away the irritating cloth, grabbed his now leaking erection impatiently and tugged.

Picking up the pace quickly he tried to keep his moans quiet, but - oh god - how _good_ they sounded.

So far, most of the time he and Connor had spent together the boy had varied between frosty silence, accusing his father of being responsible for his mother's death (never forgetting to slip in the topic of Charles Lee being a monster) and mumbling defensively whenever Haytham dared to speak against his _perfect_ Assassin's order.

But now _this_ sounded oh so differently. He had never realised how warm and soft Connor's voice actually was.

He wanted to know how it would sound if his son didn't hate him.  
  
"Fa-hng-father!", he gently breathed in Connor's voice.

 

This was wrong, more than wrong.

And it was all it took him to come.

 

Breathing heavily he slowly came down from his high.

The sun rose in the distance and Haytham watched the sky turn a palish pink and then bright blue while he stroked his - Connor's - stomach and chest lazily.

He got up to wash himself; they had work to do.

Tying back his hair like he was used to, Haytham couldn't hold back a little smile.  
He knew exactly what he would do as soon as he got back into his own body:

He'd make sure Connor made all these lovely sounds for him again.


	2. Connor's Point of View

He didn't know how his father was able to walk, climb and run as elegantly as he did all the time.

This body of his father's was _impossible_ to live in.

Connor wasn't as fast as he was used to, he wasn't as strong as he was used to and some of his joints _ached_. The clothes he was wearing were ridiculous, the cape was annoying and got stuck all the time. His shoulders and especially his hips were a bit broader than his which made him bump into people and door frames alike.

And he got tired worryingly fast.

 

As he closed the door to his room behind himself, all he could think of was sinking into the comfortable mattress and _sleep_. Maybe for an entire week.

Connor was glad that his father had made them stay at the inn for the night. He hadn't realised just how tired he was until now.

Connor threw the hat away, shrugged off the cape and – growling with slight discomfort – took off his boots as well. As much as he'd like to simply fall asleep on the bed as he was, it would certainly be troublesome for the inn's keepers to get the sheets clean again.

Grumbling quietly, he took the coat off and rolled his sleeves up to wash his face.

There was a little mirror besides his washing bowl. His father's tired face looked back at him from down there. He'd never seen his father's face like that. Was that because his father never was this tired or because he didn't let it show?

 

Connor took the mirror and sat down on the bed, still studying his reflection. His beard stubbles had grown out a bit over the day. He touched his chin, it felt like sand. Making a face Connor wondered if he had to shave every single day. How annoying.

He decided to shave in the morning.

 

Connor yawned, put the mirror aside and opened the loop of his hair ribbon.

His father's hair was nice.

He smiled as he brushed his fingers through this fine, soft hair, so different from his own.

Yawning again, Connor laid down on the bed. He sighed heavily in relief as his body relaxed into the mattress. Then he frowned slightly.

Being in someone else's body, of course, was weird. But what surprised him was that the weirdest bit about it all was actually _sounding_ like his father. He just couldn't get used to it.

 

Connor closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't claim him.

Though he was tired to his bones there still was something bothering him, keeping him awake.

It was childish but he had always wished to hear his father's voice calling his name. His real name. Just once.

Using another man's voice calling your own name, that was … wrong. Wasn't it?

 

Gathering all his courage he quietly said: “Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

 

It sounded nice, he thought.

Maybe, one day he would tell his father what the name his mother gave him was and teach him how to pronounce it correctly.

The thought made Connor chuckle softly.

Only seconds later he fell asleep.

* * *

 

The next morning the sun shone through the window and directly into Connor's face, waking him softly.

Sleepily he put on his father's annoying clothes, but was interrupted by an insistent knock on the door. He hardly had any time to consider opening before his father stepped inside, greeting his son with:

“I hope you're not being this slow on purpose, Connor. I don't know what _you're_ up to today, but I'd _really_ like to get this artefact back.”

 

Even if he told him his name, Connor suddenly doubted that his father would be interested in learning it.

His heart ached a bit at the thought.

But he tried to convince himself that this only was his father's old body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> Tomorrow I'll upload the final chapter. Will Haytham and Connor get back into their own bodies? We shall see! =)


	3. A Shared Point of View

The noise of crackling fire and the chirping of crickets were the only sounds breaking the silence of the dark night as they laid on the soft grass, looking at the stars.

 

Haytham cleared his throat nervously.  
“Son. … Are you … alright?”

 

Connor turned his head to watch his father with a frown. After a while he calmly said: “No, I am not alright, father.”

 

Of course he wasn't.

“I just want you to know how sorry I am … about this. About all of it, Connor.”

 

Connor turned back to watch the stars.

“It is not your fault.”

 

It _wasn't_ Haytham's fault. Still, he couldn't help feeling responsible. It was _his_ old body the boy was trapped in now, after all.

 

The Boston merchant had already sold the Piece of Eden when they found him, not knowing what it was. Unfortunately the buyer did know. A Caribbean Assassin, who was just stopping by this town to stock up on supplies for his ship, had seen the ancient necklace in the shop window and instantly recognised the strange metal for what it was.

Connor and Haytham tried to explain the situation but he wouldn't believe them.

So an argument led to a fight led to a chase, during which the Piece of Eden ended up in the Boston harbour.  
Now it seemed they had to remain in their current bodies. Possibly forever.

 

Haytham felt especially guilty for stealing his son's youth.

He shouldn't mind, Connor was an Assassin. Stealing the greater part of the boy's life span and vitality should actually make him glad, it made him less of a threat.

 

“I cannot go back to my people.”, Connor said flatly. “This I cannot explain to them. Nor to my friends back at the homestead.”

 

Haytham threw a glance at his son and what he saw made his heart clench painfully.

He was used to Connor reacting to most things rather passionately, often with anger. He wasn't prepared for the look of utter hopelessness on his face.

Losing the place you call home was a pain Haytham knew all too well. Though it might have faded with time, the hopelessness and feeling of not belonging that came with it never went away completely.

Haytham didn't want this for Connor. But there was nothing he could do about it.

 

“My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

  
“I beg your pardon?”, Haytham asked, sitting up in confusion.

 

Connor sat up, too.

“This is my real name, the name my people use. They might call you this now.”, he explained to his stunned father. “So I thought you should know about it.”

Haytham didn't respond, so Connor repeated accentually: “Ra-tonhn-ha-ké-ton.”

Connor nervously folded his hands in front of his chest as his father stayed silent.

 

After a while Haytham opened his mouth. Then he closed it again.

“Why didn't you tell me before?”, he finally asked.

 

“There was no point in telling you.”

 

“ _There was no point?_ I'm your father after all, … Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

 

Connor starred at Haytham in disbelieve.

“You … pronounced it correctly.”

 

“Don't be so baffled about this, boy!”, Haytham scolded, but a smile tugged at his lips. “William and Charles taught me a bit Mohawk. And though I've never really succeeded in actually building a proper sentence, my pronunciation became surprisingly good.”

 

“It _is_ good, father.”, Connor said a bit sheepishly.

 

“I do hope you'll forgive me, but I intend to stick to 'Connor' most of the time. It's simply faster to say.”

 

Connor nodded. Then he laid down again.

“I thought to be never called by my name again … after what happened.”

He paused. “I would like you to use it occasionally.”, Connor muttered. “If that is alright for you, father.”

 

Haytham furrowed his brow. “Of course it is.”

 

They fell silent.

 

Haytham couldn't fall asleep. Instead he watched the fire and over Connor, who had drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Suddenly Connor let out a yelp and jumped up, ready to fight.

 

“It was a dream.”, Haytham said as he hurried to his side, grabbing his arms so he couldn't hurt himself nor his father.

 

Connor blinked. For a while he watched his father in confusion. Then he shook his head.

“It is weird waking up from a nightmare, looking into my own face.”

 

Haytham let go of his arms.

“I didn't really think about this. My apologies.”

Silence fell once more.

 

Tentatively Connor grabbed his father's lapel and stroked his thumb over its buttons.

 

“I'll give you back your robes as soon as I've got a new set of clothes.”, Haytham said with a frown, not sure what this was supposed to be about.

 

Connor only nodded silently, still holding on to the blue, firmly woven fabric of the coat.

“Did I wake you up, father?”, he finally asked guiltily.

  
“You didn't. I made sure to keep the fire burning while you slept.”

 

“Then I will watch the fire now so you can sleep.”

 

Haytham took Connor's wrists, leading his hands away from the lapel.  
“No, you won't, Connor. You need to rest and I'm not very tired anyway.”

As Connor opened his mouth to protest Haytham narrowed his eyes and said with a commanding voice: “That wasn't a question, boy!”

With a sour look Connor obeyed and got back on the ground, huddling under some pelts.

  
“Goodnight, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”, Haytham said as soon as Connor stopped turning.

  
Connor made a little, sleepy noise and mumbled, already drowsy: “Goodnight, father.”

 

Haytham couldn't help smiling a bit.

Despite himself he quietly knelt down beside Connor and clenched his hands before hesitantly stroking his son's hair.

Though Connor now wore his face, it didn't really freak Haytham out. It just looked so _different_. Not hard and bitter but honest and open.

Connor wasn't much like Ziio, in his opinion. But what the both of them shared was this 'spirit' that he had loved so much about her. A word he used in his thoughts and his journal for the lack of a better one, a kind of beauty that wasn't bound to appearance. It was like a warm light shining from within.

He was getting sentimental and he knew it. Still, he didn't feel like caring about decency now. Haytham closed the gap between them, gently pressing his lips against the boy's.

Then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

When Haytham woke up with a groan the sun was already high up in the sky. Angrily he kicked at the pelts, they were way too warm now.

Connor looked up from his work as he heard his father groan. He sat a bit away from him, busy gutting a hare.

Something was different, but Haytham couldn't quite point it out.

Then it hit him.

 

“How on earth-?!”

 

“When I woke up this morning, we were back to normal. I do not know how it happened.”, Connor threw some meat in the kettle. “But I have been thinking about it: maybe the effect of this Piece of Eden was only temporarily. Or its effect wore off because it was destroyed by something in the harbour.”

 

Haytham groaned again. He had gotten used to Connor's young body; his own bones now felt like blades inside his flesh.

“Yes, that's possible.”, Haytham mused, suddenly remembering what happened last night. “Or this goddamn necklace has got the cheekiest emergency stop mechanism these ancient bastards could have thought of.”

As Connor gave him a questioning look, he waved him off.

“Concentrate on the food, Connor! I'm extraordinarily hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you guys like it?
> 
> With this chapter my first mini story ends. It was great fun writing and I'm already working on the next one.  
> Many thanks again to the most wonderful the_lady_aridette for beta-reading and also to you, lovely reader for (of course) reading! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to my wonderful friend the_lady_aridette, who not only lets me use her AO3 account for this but also beta-read this story for me!
> 
> Thanks go of course also to you, dear reader of these End Notes, because that means chances are high you actually read this chapter =D Thank you so much, love!


End file.
